Out There: A Rural Horror Story

by Cademon Bishop

“Can it! And can it,” Clem called, not lifting her head out of the pages.

  “Hey, Clem?” Lara walked over to the register and twirled the “all bacon 25% off” sign between her fingers. “Is there anything else you can tell me bout’ that truck?”

  Clem walked around the store with her face glued to the book, “I’m not sure there’s much I could say from the last time we talked. Red Acres is as much of a puzzle to me as it is to you,” Clem’s face finally peeled off the book. “Ya know, I bet you could wait for em’ or somethin’. Day’s Monday, right?”

  “Yeah!” Lara leaned in.

  “Well, I take it you can come and wait tonight, I ain’t’ payin’ you over time though.”

  “That’s fine, thank ya,. I’ll keep this place all tidy.”

  “Ya better keep this place in good shape. Ya left a knife box on the floor last night.”

  September 4th, 1977 8:03pm

  Night fell as Clem left. Lara took all her items out of her truck and made a bedded base in Clem’s office. Despite being closed at 7, Lara kept the lights on. Bundled in a quilted blanket, she danced upon the last remaining pages of the Old Man and the Sea. The front door rattled. Lara let it slip by. Her mind changed when she heard the worn chime of the bell above the door. Something was trying to get in.

  Something in a hurry.

  Lara cracked open the office door and almost slammed the door shut as she saw a black shine. Then she noticed a zipper and then cuffs; it was a young black man in a leather jacket. The young man pivoted his head and knocked on the glass.

  He’s running away from something… Is it out there?

  Lara bounded toward the front door. She glanced up as she fiddled with the lock. The man’s eyes were filled with fear. The man collapsed on the tiles as the door opened. Confused fear sunk into Lara as she saw something roll out of his hands and bounce down the aisles like a bowling ball—a biker’s helmet.

  Lara locked the door. The man got on his knees to catch his breath before finally drawing out one long exhale. His face looked familiar, but Lara couldn’t quite recognize him.

  “I’m…” He fought once more with his breath, “I’m sorry for barging on in.”

  “Was there something out there followin’ you?” Lara noticed the spray of sweat trickling down his face as she stood close to him. He pressed his hands against his knees in a high squat.

  “Some creature came runnin’ me down while I was on my bike. My gas was just about pitterin’ out, so I had to hop off and run. I booked it over here cause’ y’all seemed like the only place open.” He fixed himself upright. “What’s your name?”

  “Lara.” She stepped back and glanced at him with an odd mix of caution and concern, “And you are?”

  “Denver. Hey, do you know where the next gas station is? I can probably walk on over there if it’s gone.”

  Lara raised a hand to her chin, “Probably about a good mile away.”

  “Shit. How late ya’ll closin’?” he hobbled to his helmet.

  “I’m...” Lara eyed that helmet. Why was Butch so afraid of the bikers?

  “I won’t stay long.” Denver looked around in curiosity. The florescent lights highlighted his smooth face. “Is it alright if I just hang around, till I know that thing’s gone and the rain-”

  “The rain! Shit! It’s rainin’,” Lara paced towards the window.

  “Yeah, it’s a little misty, surprised me as well.” A spray of rain wasn’t deadly, it only would take a person twenty minutes to dissolve. A slight drizzle would seem harmless at first, but more often than not, it held a storm.

  “Damn it! Did you hear something’ bout’ a storm tonight?”

  “Yeah! I-” his face froze mid-sentence, then his head darted like an alert animal. “La…Lauren?”

  “Lara.”

  “Lara, turn off the lights.”

  What the hell does he have planned, comin’ in here? Lara thought.

  Denver’s eyes remained glued to whatever was out the window. “Lara, I think it’s here.”

  “Shit!” She bolted towards the row of switches on the wall behind the cash register.

  The two backed into Clem’s office, their faces never leaving the front window. A hum of static from Clem’s radio washed throughout the room like an ocean wave. “Where is it?” Lara asked, as they slid behind the door.

  Denver pointed towards the small hill that bordered along Old Greensburg road. She could make out a figure from behind the ridge, head bobbing, eyes flickering between tree trunks like stop motion.

  “My bike was just there,” Denver whispered, close to Lara. She could hear the brush of leather as he lowered his arm. Lara hopped back and kicked the door shut. Darkness engulfed the office. “What was that for?”

  “It saw me.” Lara said. “Its eyes were on me, I swear.”

  “Well, that just made it all better.” Lara could hear Denver’s breaths as he paused. “Did you lock the front door?”

  Lara rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah of course I-”

  Dingaling—The bell above the front door rang a muffled chime. A flare of rainstorm echoed through the store. Wind continued to bellow inside. The glass entrance teetered on closing only for a hail of wind and rain to send it slamming against the wall. The door automatically closed, muttering a ding as it tapped the doorway. The wind blew the door open again—Dingaling.

  What does it want? She thought, Why me? Why him? I… I can’t. Her body uncontrollably pressed against Denver for support. He didn’t seem to notice. She felt grounded for a second, only for buried fear to arise.

  It was the thought of Johnathan; she had almost let go of him. She yearned to not remember him, to not feel. To feel would only be to hurt. And when she pressed her leg against Denver, the pain wasn’t there.

  Only the fear.

  What am I thinking? I’m-. She pushed into him now. He has to know by now. How the hell does he not know. A sound snapped her attention towards the store. Behind the cheap wooden of the office was the slow, moist slap of feet.

  It then stood motionless, the front door still swaying that rhythmic crashing swing—Dingaling! It slithered somewhere in the building. She couldn’t quite make it out where it was through the wind’s billow and the static churn of the radio on Clem’s wooden desk.

  Lara’s hands tingled for a flash of a second, an odd pins and needles reflex that trailed up the front of her arm. Almost in sync with the newborn flame of sensation, the radio blared then flicked through stations. Denver jumped back and almost knocked off Clem’s paper tray. He scrambled around the desk and blindly patted at the radio in the dark. It was too late.

  In the slit below the door, two ink-black feet stamped forward. Its body dripping wet.

  Lara’s fear waned as her fingers found their way to Denver’s hands. He grasped back. His fingers let her sink away.

  The door careened back into the brick rim of the front window—Dingaling! Then they heard an animal-like scurrying sound as the being chipped away at the office door nob. Shit, shit, shit! It’s trying to get in, Lara’s hands now dug into the back of Denver’s.

  The being turned the knob and let the door creek open a half inch, then an inch, then three inches. As light seeped through the open slit, Lara made out the glossy leg of the shadow.

  Denver let go of Lara.

  Denver shot up and delivered a robust kick to the door, as if he were trying to knock down a narrow tree. The being slid back. The door whacked its face with a satisfying thump, then it sprung back and slammed shut. The being landed on an aisle of snacks, sending a rustling shake down each item that hung on it.

  The thrust sent Denver stumbling back and sliding over the desk, knocking over a pencil holder. With a minute crack, he landed on the flimsy paperwork tray. Two thin shards of plastic sliced the back of his jacket.

  The being let out a shrill, dread-filled wail.

  Lara controlled her fears and opened the door. The radio fizzled out of static and faded into a station as
if she were controlling it. She realized she was controlling it, in some faint, indescribable way.

  The being writhed in place, letting out another uncanny screech. Two metal bars, that once held popcorn bags, pierced its chest and arms. A thin puddle of blood pooled down its legs. Its feet lost grip as it smeared black crimson and blood-stained popcorn across the checkered tiles. Each helpless flail sent the metal rods a little higher up its body.

  “Denver it’s bleedin’, it’s really bleedin’!” Lara screamed. The being reached towards her. It slung its shaky hand out in a limp come-here motion. Lara’s teeth clattered as she watched the thing squirmed like a fish out of water. For a second she swore it was crying.

  “YAAAAA!” Denver charged in, wielding a shard of the broken filing tray like a madman.

  “Denver, wait!” Lara reached out towards him; however, it was too late. His feet slid flat out from under him. There was a dark spill down aisle 12. In his fall he drove shard into the jelly-like skin of its shoulder and, with the momentum of his fall, sliced though—like a knife though hot jam.

  Its eyes blinked and beamed flashlight gazes to the paneled ceiling.

  Denver’s arm cushioned his head in the fall. He leaned up, and almost found footing. Then a gallon of ink-black blood splashed from the cut and drowned his face, flooding his nostrils with a burnt toast like smell.

  Lara screamed something incomprehensible as she looked out the window. She heaved Denver up with one hand. The blood on his wrist sent him slipping out of her grasp. Just as he was about to fall Lara swung out her other hand and reached under his armpit as he stood.

  “Look!” She pointed towards the window. Denver saw three other shadows lurking across the rainy parking lot. A pack of glowing eyes marched in the wall of rain; their slick shoulders highlighted by the parking lot lights. Lara and Denver dashed towards the iron stockroom door.

  They heaved two of the hefty tin storage shelves against both entrances of the stockroom. The drab light bulb in the middle of the room flicked as heavy washes of rain wailed on the roof.

  Lara leaned her head on Denver, feeling his breath as his shoulders swayed. The way a ship would sway in the wake of a storm. She sailed her hands towards his, allowing for windswept fingers to curl over his.

  Without looking at her, he grasped back. Denver slid off his crimson coated jacket and let out a heavy exhale as he leaned his head against hers.

  His hands made it easy for her to forget, not acting upon the pain, merely letting it ride. Of course, this wouldn’t help. She didn’t dream as they dozed into a light sleep. She wouldn’t have enough time to.

  Side C, Track 5

  Midnight

  Record date: September 6th, 1977 6:55pm

  “I don’t know anythin’ else I could tell you bout the town. We ain’t got much of a history. People have their stories, and I don’t think they got stories they’re willin’ to share.”

  “I feel likes there’s something missing.”

  “MMMhhhh! What did I tell ya? Damn fine tenders.”

  “How do you know Lucy?”

  “What… what did ya just say?”

  “I heard a rumor. You know a woman named Lucy.”

  “WHO! Who told ya such a thing, it ain’t true I ain’t got any dealin’s with her ya hear me!”

  “I never asked if you had connections with her, James, all I wanted to know was how you met her.”

  This was one of the few moments I regretted most in my investigation. I could have saved a man’s life had I not brought up this old wound.

  I continued to sip on my Brandy Alexander as if I had done nothing wrong. It was the only liquid that was not some washed-out hick piss in this grimy joint. The mayor adored the place, and I will admit that I felt a splash of homeliness, albeit a chintzy, back corner dust kind of homeliness.

  Side B, Track 5

  The Devils In the --

  Harvey held the note as he walked down a dirt path through Brookside Garden. He assumed Brookside would be a plot of unused farmland that they called a garden; however, he found himself in a beautifully sculpted area. The park housed a maze of slider trees and flowers that bloomed like ruby breadcrumbs along the side of the paths. Plastic signs were stapled onto trees. A tree labeled ‘White Ash’ looked as if it were the skeleton of a giant’s hand breaking out of the earth.

  The tree could have anything else smacked on it, and Harvey still would have believed it. He chuckled to himself as he went around naming the trees like some childish rendition of Adam and Eve.

  “Big ass birch,” he shot off at the Black Walnut. As he drew towards the heart of the park, he saw how the title “Garden” came to be. Flowers blossomed in lush swirls of yellow and red between the trees and bushes of roses frilled the outer rim of the path. A floral yet smokey aroma filled the air.

  He drifted into a clearing in the center of the park. In the clearing, four benches encompassed a wide stone disk with something engraved on it. A person wearing a dark leather jacket and a scuffed oil black helmet sat on a bench.

  The biker cocked their head to the left, scrutinizing Harvey. He assumed it was a woman from the trails of fiery red hair that flowed out of the helmet. Still reclined, they held their fingers up as if holding an imaginary card. Harvey held the note in the same gesture and shrugged.

  The biker took off their helmet. To no surprise, it was a woman. A sharp smile spread across her face, “I was just bout to head out.” The helmet swayed as she held it. She waved towards the bench on her right, “Why don’t ya sit on down a second?”

  “I assume you sent me this card?” Harvey said, lowering himself onto the bench.

  “Nice day, ain’t it? Never expected to see anyone new. Not in this town.” She pressed her fist against her chin in callow attention. Harvey could make out three vertical scars on the back of her hand, as if some large cat had scratched it. “How did ya get in? I know it was somewhere along with that gas station. You left you your shit there, I had one of my boys scope it out. Fuckin’ great car.” She twiddled with her helmet buckle between two fingers. Her smile spoiled, “You ain’t playin’ that local police shit on me, we don’t get that car shipped out here. So how did that little red toy drive up by itself?”

  Harvey gulped. He crinkled the note into a bullet sized ball. “I… I was,” you can’t lie, he thought, you don’t know what you're up against.

  “We’re here for the same reasons.” She eyed the blanket of dove-gray clouds. “I’m just curious. What kinda thing you got yourself into?”

  “I was thrown in. A wave of rain rushed over me, and I found myself here.” Harvey shook his head “That’s it.”

  “Now, why are ya here? That Ohio plate you got sticks out like a crow in a cornfield.”

  “Alright,” he sighed as he shifted his position on the bench and leaned forward, “I’ve been sent here to find something in this town.”

  “God damn it, yes!” she exclaimed, scaring away two birds. “That’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about. We’re here for the same reason—only I’m local grown. Okay, I know the thing you’re lookin’ out for. Me and my gang are searchin’ for it too.” She leaned in closer, gleaming with youthful eagerness, “There’s a devil out in these parts.”

  “Wait, I was chased down by some dark thing, is that it?!”

  “That’s a part of it. I’m Lucy, by the way, we already know ya name from what you left jumbled in your glove box.”

  “We?” Harvey tapped his foot on the stone disk in front of them.

  “I lead a bike gang round these parts, the Once Dead Tempests.” twisting her back, she revealed “O.D.T” painted with black paint on a yellowing white cloth, curved below were the words: “Kentucky, J.S.” “When we was kids we questioned the rain. We thought there’s gotta be some ‘ungodly’ reason for this here. I don’t give a shit what ya believe in, what’s happenin’ to Joselean Springs is some freak of nature. If not, then it’s some gods form of a joke.

  “Back in
high school, me and my friends knew we had to take a stance. Didn’t know what, we just knew we hadda’ go on and get. When we saw a group of bikers on TV, we all knew we wanted that… and we toughened up. People came and went, the roses we were.” Lucy reached out and caressed a barb on the rosebush. “We got our thorns,” she extended a weightless hand to pluck a dying rose off a bush and examined it, a charcoal fossil tucked amid the leaves. “Have any interest in workin’ together?”

  Harvey paused, stroking his mustache as he thought it over, “As much as I’d like to help, I can’t. I work alone, and you’re a gang, so what use would I have with that?”

  “We have a few clues as to who the devil might be. I’m not sayin’ ya have to be one of us. We can just keep a good ol exchange of information, and...” She spun the withered rosebud between her thumb and pointer finger. “If anyone comes in your way, we’ll take care of em’.” She squashed the rosebud, pulverizing it into thin soot.

  “I’ll call when I need you,” Harvey stood up and shook her hand.

  On the stroll back, they shared information, each hiding bits of the truth. When they reached the exit, Lucy slipped him another note, “Call this number, and we can go off about more findins’.”

  “Thanks,” Harvey was about to walk back but turned around. “Do you think you could give me a ride to my car?”

  Lucy gave back a small chuckle. “I was wonderin’ how you be gettin’ that hot rod back.”

  The rush of the frigid fall wind was soothing to Harvey. Jetting down East Broadway, he saw hints of the town’s center over the rooftops. Townhall stood out like a castle in ruins. The buildings were a set of broken teeth; once or twice a block, a store would be closed or broken into.

  A chip in a faded smile.

  The town faded into obscurity halfway toward the gas station. Trees and hills swarmed the surrounding area. Harvey could see a herd of cows off in the distance. The herd scattered against the hill, resembling specks of pepper. By the time they reached the Gulf Gas Station, the sun peaked through the parting clouds in string-like rays.